


The Storm

by Ylevihs



Series: How Not to Fall [14]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Gen, Herald POV, M/M, Retribution Spoilers, canon typical angst, canon typical self loathing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 15:50:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18854188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ylevihs/pseuds/Ylevihs
Summary: Richard confesses. In part.





	The Storm

Fifteen minutes until show time and Richard sat on the couch like a man on death row about to eat his final meal. Shoulders tight, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, staring at the ground as though if he looked hard enough he could find a way to tunnel out of this. Mouth drawn up tight and thin where he was clenching his teeth. Directionless, his hands wrung themselves until his knuckles turned white and cracked from the pressure. Thunder cracked outside as if in sympathy.

He’d been pacing earlier, flicking at the buttons on his shirt. Setting and resetting the table. He’d gone quiet for a little bit and when Daniel looked over he found Richard folding rather nice looking cranes out of the paper napkins on the table. Anything to keep his hands moving. Then he made half sincere offers to help cook. Actually helped clean up some of the usual debris that came from cooking before getting distracted and having to take a deep breath. After catching one too many razor thin glances at the knife block when Richard thought Daniel wasn’t looking, Daniel had sent him into the living room to wallow.

Daniel swallowed the lump of guilt in his throat. It hurt to see him like that, wavering on some high ledge that Daniel couldn’t pull him back from. Richard had asked on Tuesday if Ortega wanted to come to dinner and every day since Daniel could feel Richard creeping closer and closer to the edge. He could be subtle when he wanted to be, but Daniel was only getting better at reading him. And every motion was starting to be colored sick green with fear.

“Richie–,”

“Don’t,” Daniel watched him bring his hands up and drag his fingers through his hair, once, twice. He recognized it as a shoddy attempt to self soothe. He’d already had one beer but to Daniel’s quiet relief hadn’t reached for a second. “I’ll be okay,” a shitty lie, but one that said he didn’t want to be pushed about it right now. The oven timer beeped. Ten minutes now. He watched Richard’s face tighten, relax. Tighten again.

“You can do this,” Daniel said as gently as he could, believing it. He knew that it was possible that Richard would fold tonight. Back out from telling Ortega anything besides ‘thanks for coming and have a nice night’. But ever since Richard had told him about his plans for his Mad Dog persona and the Farm, it was clear that he was going to need every person he could get in his corner. And in order to have Ortega on his side he was going to have to tell him the truth, no matter how much it hurt. But Daniel believed he could do it. Richard was stronger than he gave himself credit for.

The idea that Ortega wouldn’t be there for his friend didn’t even cross Daniel’s mind. Why would it? The two obviously cared about each other enough to have made Daniel almost too nervous to ask Richard out that afternoon on the roof, afraid that he might have been stepping over an invisible line. Ortega would probably need some time, Daniel certainly had, but he would come around. When the cards were down, Ortega would be there for his friend. Daniel was sure of it. 

“Sure,” quick and quiet and borderline angry, followed by a heavy sigh. “I hope you’re right,” even quieter, as if Daniel wasn’t meant to hear that part. 

He wanted to say something else, Daniel could tell, but there a knock on the door and Richard’s head snapped up quick enough to give himself whiplash. Staring at the door like the man behind it was a hitman here to kill him, all sharp edges and nervy terror. And then he wasn’t. The switch flipped, mask snapped into place, and Richard walked over and opened the door, not quite smiling.

“I still don’t think I’ll ever get used to you showing up on time, nowadays,” friendly. They hugged in the doorway, a bottle in Ortega’s right hand. A soppy umbrella in the left. “Not worried about being fashionably late in your winter years?”

“Very funny. I almost was late, first with all the damn rain flooding everything and then the guy at the check-out couldn’t read–,”

Daniel stopped eavesdropping and turned back into the kitchen, back to the oven, flipping it off and sliding out the tray of potatoes to cool off. He heard the door thunk shut. Did not hear the lock bolt snick over. Or the chain. Or any of Richard’s other various safeguards go into place. That didn’t bode well. A quick exit if things got ugly.

“Hi Daniel,” Ortega’s voice was bright and warm and moving closer to the kitchen. There was a dull noise of the bottle being placed on the dining table. “You need a hand in there?”

“Hey,” he slipped his hands out of the oven mitts and paused to lift a hand up in the door frame as a greeting. “And nope, everything’s just about done. Richie, could you come get the salad and put it on the table for me?”

“Get some glasses too, I brought us a little champagne,” Ortega’s voice added on. “Dinner smells fantastic,” Richard’s face as he came into the kitchen was blank and cold and stayed that way as he plucked the fluted glasses up and balanced their stems between his fingers. A peal of thunder cracked outside.

“Thanks,” Daniel called back over Richard’s shoulder, keeping an eye on his boyfriend’s face. He dropped his voice to a low whisper. “This is gonna be okay, okay? You can do this. I’m here. I believe in you,” he punctuated that last one with a chaste kiss to Richard’s cheek. No reaction. Richard’s free hand shook until he secured it onto the glass salad bowl and then he steadied. Nothing wrong here, folks. Everything’s under control. “I love you,”

“Love you, too,” forced and brittle and shaky. A deep breath. Then the mask was back. Daniel didn’t push it. If it helped Richard get through dinner, let him keep up the act.

“So,” Ortega’s voice carried from the other room. Light and teasing. “It’s ‘Richie’ now?”

“Ah, beans,”

–

If he was waiting on death row before, now Richard was sitting in the electric chair. Outside the storm had only gotten worse; they could hear the rain pummeling the side of the building. Beneath the table, just beside his leg, Daniel could feel the tremors in Richard’s as he tried not to fidget. Dinner had gone smoothly. Almost too much so. Conversation had felt as normal as it could get for men like them—Ortega had come straight from work and had done his best to pitch his latest theory about Hollow Ground to them. Apparently some vital piece of connecting evidence had been discovered and Ortega was more excited than a kid in a candy store. And when he saw that Richard wasn’t going to rise to the bait he moved on, poking instead at a fresher source of entertainment: the two of them.

“I’m glad to see that fight from a little while ago has blown over,” and he shot their side of the table a wink. “Everything’s going well?”

“Uh, yeah,” Daniel fought off the urge to rub at the back of his neck. Beside him Richard began rapping his knuckles lightly on the table. His knee was bouncing. “Yeah, we’re…we’re doing much better now,” he placed his hand palm flat on Richard’s. Not pinning it, sliding around the outside to hold it in his own. He could tell Ortega was watching the movement like a hawk sighting a wounded rabbit. “Much better,”

Richard’s words startled them both. His voice sounded thick with something grim and terrible. Oh god, were they doing this now? “That’s partly why we invited you over,”

“Alright,” Ortega nodded and his body language changed. Back straightened, core tightened and beside him, oh shit, Richard was doing the same. “I’ve known for a while that there was something going on and now I’ve got a pretty good idea what it is,” and Ortega’s voice was solemn. Serious. It was the voice he used for press conferences back when he was Marshal. A tone that commanded attention. Respect. He put his hands folded onto the table and stared down at his knuckles. “Somebody has got to say it. I don’t want to be the one to, but somebody needs to get it out in the open. If Chen were here instead of me you’d get the real grilling over it, but he’s not so mine will have to do for now,”

Silence. Distant thunder. Richard’s fingers tightened against Daniel’s. Ortega’s eyes strayed back to that point of contact. He sighed. It dragged on enough for Daniel to clear his throat to begin—Ortega silenced him with a look.

“You’re moving too quickly. It’s been, what, six months? Call it seven,” his posture relaxed again, as though that had been the tough part. “It’s too soon,” Too soon for what? How much of Richard’s plans did Ortega already know about? How long had he known? The hand held in his was squirming to get free. He didn’t want to but he let Richard have his fingers back, a quick glance to the side showing exactly how out of his depth the other man suddenly was.

What exactly did Ortega know and how long had he known it and what the hell did he mean when he said that Richard was moving too quickly? Richard just blinked, a man who’d been struck by lightning in the middle of his own apartment and had lived. “There. That’s out of the way. I’ve said it and I’ve done my job as the voice of reason. Ugh. Now,” a huge grin spread over his face. It was genuinely the happiest Daniel could ever remember seeing Ortega, save for when he had first brought Sidestep back into Headquarters to talk with Angie. “You gotta tell me everything,”

“Everything.” Richard’s voice was hollow. Shell shocked, staring straight ahead at Ortega as though he’d grown a second head. “Every–,”

“Every last detail. But you don’t have to start from the beginning, I can piece that together obviously. So. Oh, uh, okay,” and he was so clearly excited that he was losing his words, beaming all the while. “Start with who proposed,”

Well. There was the thunder after the lightning strike.

“What?” like a glacier calving. The word sounded like a whip crack in an empty studio lot. Richard was frozen beside him, mouth hanging open.

“Ricardo, no. That’s not. I mean, we’re not getting marr–. I mean not right now. We’re not, right now, I. Not that it would be a bad. Thing. Richie and I. We’re not,” Daniel’s voice kept starting and stopping, brain unable to fully form the sentence until he, oh Jesus fuck that was cold, felt Richard’s influence in his mind dragging it out of him like a harpooned whale from the deep. “ _We aren’t engaged_ ,” the icy chill feeling seeped out of his brain as Richard left. Daniel swallowed hard. “Yet,” he added on and was treated to the feeling of something of Richard’s spiking.

“Oh,” Ortega leaned back up, smile shrinking by several molars until it fell away completely. He turned to Richard. “So. You didn’t invite me over because you wanted to ask me to be your best man?” 

“No?” it must have been the smallest sound Richard could possibly make and still be heard.

“Oh,” Ortega repeated, now looking equally embarrassed and deflated. “Well, shit, I should have bought cheaper champagne then,” he seemed to recover equally quickly. The grin was back, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Yet?” Richard practically stood up from his chair, stopped only by Daniel’s hand on his thigh.

Still, he managed a “Drop it, Ortega,” without sounding too furious and flustered and Ortega put his head down in mock-defeat.

“Alright, alright, dropping it,” but his voice said that he was going to cling to that for as long as he could. “It’s dropped. It’s on the ground. We’re moving on…so, ‘Richie’ here,” and the name was clearly delicious in his mouth, the way he smiled around it. Instead of the expected glare, Daniel saw Richard’s fingers jump. Reflexive. Not entirely into a fist. Shit, maybe he was already too anxious. There was actually a chance that there might be a fight if they ever got around to the real reason. Shit. “Tells me that the volunteer work he’s been doing was your idea,”

Daniel smiled and did his best to look relaxed. That curve ball had been. Extreme was a mild way of putting it. He had no idea now how Richard was going to handle the evening. There had been a basic plan. Dinner. Small talk. Moving to the living room and there Richard would. Would either say something or he wouldn’t. It would be out of Daniel’s hands then. For now though, it still felt like he had a little control over the evening, even with Ortega throwing them both for a loop. He would do what he could to steer it in a good direction. “I thought it would a nice way to, you know, it’s not hero work exactly but,” and Ortega nodded along eagerly.

That was a sticky admission. Richard had never called him on it, but having Richard help out had always been about more than repairing the street damage Mad Dog had done. As much as he bitched and moaned before and after he was done, during the work…While he was actually doing something? Actually helping? It changed his face. Changed how he held himself. For all that he claimed Sidestep was dead, a lot of him came out when Richard did his community service.

“We should move to the living room,” Richard said suddenly and Daniel felt his heart twist. Okay then. Zero hour.

“Sure,” Ortega gave them both a sheepish grin as he stood up. “Sorry about the…you know,”

“Don’t worry about it,” Richard mumbled and brushed by them both, staring straight ahead into his living room. Ortega winced and mouthed another ‘sorry’ in Daniel’s direction. Daniel shrugged, because what else could he offer? Engaged.

Ortega thought that they were? That? Huh.

Shit, if Richard hadn’t had every toe over the edge before, now he was up to the balls of his feet hanging over the precipice. He was already sitting when they entered the living room. In the armchair, not the couch. Not where Daniel could have sat next to him. Offered him any help. If Ortega noticed the tension in the air, he didn’t say anything about it. In fact, he chose the couch seat as close to Richard as he could.

“There is something going on though, isn’t there?” Ortega’s voice was serious again. Okay, so he did notice the tension. Richard leaned forward, arms wrapping around himself. Lightly for the moment, all the tension held in his mouth where his teeth were clenched too tightly. “And it’s not that you crazy kids are eloping,” he looked between the two of them, gaze shifting from Richard to Daniel and back, very slowly. Taking them both in.

“No. It’s because I’ve been lying to you and it needs to end now,” there was no security in his voice anymore. Whatever mask he’d made was barely on, mouth twisting and twitching and. Daniel watched his eyes slip closed and saw him take a deep breath. “You’re my best friend, Ricardo. You’ve always been my best friend,” he paused and seemed to collect what he could of himself before everything shattered. “Sit down Daniel, you’re hovering,”

He was only about a foot off the ground. But it was enough to give him a height advantage over Richard if he needed it. Hovering between the living room and the unlocked front door and. He met Richard’s eyes. And Richard knew that he was blocking the exit on purpose now. A mix of anger and terror in those blue eyes and then he was back to looking at the ground between his feet.

For his part, Ortega watched the exchange in silence. And then.

“What have you been lying about?” the question was soft, even if Ortega’s face was hard.

“Everything,” Richard spat back. “Since the first day we ever met until now. Every single day, I’ve lied to you about who I am. About what I am,”

“So why tell me now?” Ortega interrupted. He was leaning forward now, too. The position brought their heads closer together and something faint bubbled to the surface of Daniel’s thoughts that Ortega would have sat next to Richard if he’d been able to. There wasn’t a verbal answer from Richard. He brought his head up enough to look Daniel dead in the eyes. He wasn’t crying and the expression on his face was nowhere near as cruel as he feared it would be. Brown eyes followed blue, took in Daniel a second time, and turned back. “So. Okay. You were saying that I’m your best friend,”

“You were the first friend I ever had,” and there, just at the corner of his mouth. Trying not to cry and not doing a spectacular job of holding back. The concern in Ortega’s face was clear as day and even if it wasn’t, every line of his body was taut with worry.

“Richard, I,”

“I’m not exaggerating,” he said, sharply enough for Ortega to lean back a fraction. “No one ever treated me like I wasn’t…like I was a person, not before you. Before you I was just a thing, less than a thing,” there they were. No fanfare, just a quiet inhale and sudden streaks down his face. A man too used to crying to be bothered to put effort into it. Every instinct in Daniel wanted to go over to him. Tell him it was going to be alright. Stop some of what was happening. He didn’t. Nothing had managed to kill Richard yet, a few familiar tears weren’t going to do him in now. “You were the first person who ever. Listened to me. Who seemed to like me, even,” he shook his head, tears free now. “And I. I was so scared. That you would hate me if you ever found out. When I was Sidestep I. I was so terrified of losing you. I couldn’t tell you back then because if I said anything then you would. And I would. And I couldn’t,” a single laugh, bordering on hysterical. “I still can’t, oh,” whatever he said next was swallowed by his hands, covering his face. There was a long pause and the sounds of Richard breathing deeply and slowly, drawing himself back in. Settling the tears back.

Daniel watched as Ortega reached out to put a hand on Richard’s back only for it to be swatted away. And then: “Fuck it,” the profanity sounded harsh and alien in Richard’s voice. “Do me a favor Ortega? It’s a small one,”

“Sure,” a gentle sound. Daniel had heard that voice before, too. Used it before. Talking a jumper off a ledge.

“Don’t say anything right away,” and without warning Richard stood to his full height and began unbuttoning his shirt. Slow and methodical, not the frantic and furious rush that he exposed his skin to Daniel that first night in. This wasn’t jumping from a rooftop, it was slow suicide, visible in the trembling of his fingers and his shallow breathing. He stopped halfway, the only thing exposed was his white undershirt, and it dawned on Daniel that he’d stopped because his hands were shaking too much now to handle the buttons.

The rain outside grew to a dull roar.

Ortega watched, mute, hands out as if to steady himself. Or steady Richard. Whichever of them needed it sooner. And then broke his promise.

“Whatever you’re going to show me, Richard, I’m not gonna hate you for it,”

Richard let out a bitter bark. “I can hate myself enough for the both of us then,” and the anger in it was apparently enough to steady his hands. The shirt opened, shrugged off his shoulders, slipped off his arms and was tossed in a wadded ball backwards into the arm chair. Richard stood in silence for a few moments, breathing heavily. The thick orange tattoos on his upper arms and shoulders stood bold against the pale of his skin and the bright white shirt. And then as the moment dragged on in terrible stillness the magnitude of what he’d done very visibly hit Richard. One hand flew to cover his mouth, as though he was going to be sick, while the other hand clutched his own bicep. He curled inwards and bent at the waist, shoulder’s rolling in, elbows tight to his sides. There may have been another reaction. Daniel couldn’t tell because he was across the room before anything else could happen, taking Richard’s shoulders in his hands and drawing in close. 

It wasn’t quite crying, as if Richard’s body had decided to skip that step, opting to go straight for dry heaving and shivering. The heaving turned slowly into heavy breathing, but the shaking seemed set to stay.

“You’re okay,” and Daniel almost had to cringe at how loud his voice was in the quiet room. He wasn’t even sure if it was a question as much as something he was trying to speak into truth. “You’re okay,” and he didn’t want to look over at Ortega. Felt the sudden stabbing fear at what Ortega was going to do or say and buried it deep. He looked over.

Ortega had frozen in a position that betrayed him. Half off the couch, arm out in front of him. He’d gone to comfort Richard almost at the same time Daniel had. He sat back, staring, blank and silent, at Richard’s exposed skin. After a moment he met Daniel’s gaze and whatever his eyes held was completely unreadable. It didn’t look like any emotion Daniel had ever seen. The body under his hands was growing more and more still, shakes fewer and farther between. He couldn’t bring himself to let go until he was sure Richard had calmed down and the damn shivering didn’t seem to. Daniel felt a hand on his and recognized it as Richard’s gently pulling it away from himself. He lingered a moment longer before there was a nudge in his brain. Wanting him to drift back, give the two men a little space. He did, but not enough to where he couldn’t intervene.

Richard didn’t straighten all the way up, but he did manage to unfold a little. He turned his face to Ortega, even though his eyes stayed on the ground. “I’m not human, I’m one of the real deal monsters that you used to tell Chen gave you nightmares sometimes,” he took in a deep inhale. It shuddered audibly in his lungs. “I was made to be. Designed to be a cuckoo,” his voice caught and Daniel felt it in the back of his own throat. “When you knew me as Sidestep, that was my first time ever being out in the world on my own. And I couldn’t tell you back then, even though you deserved to know, because I was scared of going back. Of losing it all,” he sat back down, the motion making him curl into himself once more. He was crying again, the low level flow of tears. All of the emotion was gone from his voice, however, and that sent a spear of worry through Daniel even more than the shaking had. “And then Heartbreak happened and they got me back anyway,” no mention of where ‘back’ was, although Daniel couldn’t blame him. “I swear I’ll die before I go ever go back there again,”

There was a moment of decompression after that. Daniel debated landing, thought about going back over and doing what he could to comfort Richard. He stayed aloft; Ortega had been reaching at the same time as him, he reminded himself. Trying to make that thought loud enough for Richard to pick up on. Ortega’s first instinct had been.

“Can I talk now?” Ortega said after a few beats of silence. Richard nodded, eyes trained on the ground between his own feet. The silent tears had given way to sniffles now. “You’re a regene,” another nod. “And you never told me because you were afraid that I would hate you and that I would send you back to…wherever it is that you’re from,” Ortega rubbed at his mouth. “Which I imagine is not a good place, seeing how terrified of it you are,” he didn’t look or sound mad. Or even upset. Just stared ahead of himself and tried to put the pieces he’d been given into a working picture.

As if on cue, thunder rolled loud and long.

“The place where I’m from is known as the Farm, which I know you’ve heard of,” even through the quiet crying, there was a challenge in the sentence. It wasn’t a question but it did want confirmation. Daniel caught the end of a slightly delayed nod from Ortega. His attention was pinned to Richard, hands clenched tight. He hid it well, but anyone who worked with Ortega long enough knew that he loved conspiracy theories. Aliens. Sinister cabals. And secret government dark sites. “I don’t know what all of your intel has told you, but I can tell you that most of it’s cover stories. It’s a black ops site, completely off the radar for most government agencies and absolutely off the books from the official military. They manufacture ReGenes there,” and Daniel’s heart twisted on the word. “They made me there, and after Heartbreak it’s where they dissected and,” he trailed and Daniel couldn’t stop himself.

“And tortured him,” Daniel added quietly. Ortega shifted on the couch, swallowing hard. 

It was getting rarer to hear Richard talk about himself as less than human, but the clinical way he always described the Farm had to be some sort of coping mechanism that Daniel couldn’t bring himself to stop. Richard had described things that would keep Daniel up at night into his next life, and probably the next one after that. Daniel didn’t think he’d ever be able to hear the word ‘recycle’ again without feeling sick. He watched Ortega’s face as Richard spoke, hoping for any sign of. Anything.

“And you’ve lied to me about this for ten years. Because you were afraid that I would send you back there,” he stared a little longer at the puzzle pieces and then like a dial had been turned Ortega’s head snapped up to look at Richard and his face folded in on itself. “Did you really think I would do that to you? That I would—meirda, do you still think that?” Ortega leaned forward, further now, clearly trying to get a look at Richard’s face.

“I’m sorry,” the words tiptoed out. Richard buried his face in his hands again, the sobs now evident from his shoulders.

“ _You’re sorr_ —I. You know what? Fine. You’re sorry. For lying to me and for not trusting me, yeah? That’s what you’re apologizing for? This is what you meant earlier when you said you’d been a shitty friend to me?” Ortega was rising to his feet, hands clenched at his sides. His tone was too high, as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Daniel’s stomach sank. No. No, that wasn’t. Please sit back down. Don’t do that. Don’t. The static electricity building up made the edges of Ortega’s hair rise. There was something off about his voice. “You’re sorry because you didn’t feel like you could trust me?”

Another nod.

“Okay,” was all Ortega said before reaching out and grabbing Richard’s elbow, the shock from contact evident, using it to pull the crying man onto his feet and into a hug that seemed designed to break ribs. “Okay, I. It’s okay. I forgive you,” and even though he couldn’t see it, Daniel could hear how strained Ortega was. Crying too. “I forgive you, I can’t believe you ever thought—oh my god, Richard, I’m sorry,” He saw one of Ortega’s hands find the back of Richard’s head as Richard hung it over his shoulder, wrapping his own arms around Ortega in return.

Daniel had to make sure he wasn’t up to the ceiling. He _knew_ it. He fucking knew it. He’d called it. Charge was not the sort of guy to leave his best friend hanging, no matter how much Richard might have feared. The hug went on, both of them muttering and half crying to one another. Quiet things that Daniel couldn’t really make out and didn’t feel a need to. After a minute Ortega visibly squeezed harder and Daniel watched as the tension melted away from Richard’s body. They held it. And. Kept holding. When it became clear that they needed more than a moment, Daniel let himself drift from the room and back towards the dinner table, carefully tidying up while keeping an ear out. He left the dishes in the sink for later and got back to the room in time to see that nothing much had changed.

The longer it lasted the more acutely awkward Daniel felt floating there watching them hug it out. It was heartwarming. Yes. Absolutely. Just. It was going on for an awfully long time. He cleared his throat, seeming to startle them out of it.

“Oh. Yeah. Right, that, uh, that wasn’t the only thing I need to tell you about,” Richard pulled back from the hug and sniffed loudly before letting out an embarrassed sort of laugh. Ortega returned the sound and after a moment the two retook their seats. Ortega ran a hand through his staticky hair and shook his head like he could clear up some of what had just happened.

“Is this other thing related to the first?”

“Things. And sort of,” Daniel landed when Richard looked over at him, eyes swollen and red and face still shining. “Earlier tonight you, uh, you asked about the ‘fight’ that Daniel and I had a while back?”

“Yeah?” Ortega’s eyes narrowed, darting back to Daniel.

“Yeah. So about that,”


End file.
